Sought After
by mamaXunicorn
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. John is miserable and is lacking the adventure his life once held. Can a certain Doctor help bring it back?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Hello everyone! I can't believe I'm managing the guts to post this fic here, I've shown it to a few choice friends and tumblr but it didn't get much feedback. I might as well try to publish it here. I'm not too sure how I feel about it just because I'm relatively new to the Sherlock fandom (I started watching it just after The Reichenbach Fall aired) and I fear I can't write John or Sherlock for my life. But this was fun to write anyhow...**_

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It had been six months. Six dreadful months. Six dreadful, _long_ months. Every day John awoke half expecting Sherlock to be doing something incredibly inappropriate for that time of day and every day John awoke to nothing but an empty, quiet flat. Every day he told himself he'd be moving out of 221B just so he could try and put his friend's death behind him but then he caught sight of the violin resting peacefully in its proper place, caught the skull mounted on the fireplace, saw the microscope sitting on the table begging to be used or the cluedo board pinned to the wall with a knife and realized he simply couldn't leave 221B because if he did Sherlock would be gone for good.

He'd gotten a better job, at a hospital halfway across London as just the thought of St. Bart's made him sick.

Mrs. Hudson came in to check on him every once in a while, she seemed to be taking Sherlock's death a little easier than he was. She took care of him though, brought him tea and biscuits occasionally without a single quip of not being his housekeeper.

He rarely ever saw Lestrade, only occasionally in passing - without Sherlock, there was no need for constant contact with the police.

Molly came by at least a couple times a month just to get him out of his flat and bring him out to dinner. The sweet girl was the only person who could get him to smile. He supposed if anyone felt the hurt of Sherlock's death like he did it would have been Moly. He was unsure if Molly still held her strong feelings for him at his passing but regardless she was close to him and given his display at the Christmas party he liked to believe Sherlock had some care for her.

Even Mycroft had tried to contact him a couple of times but he refused to speak to the older Holmes brother. John wasn't sure what had driven Sherlock to jump off of a building, he once stated he didn't care what people thought about him, but he imagined a pressure like that and going up against someone like James Moriarty could drive anyone, even Sherlock Holmes, off the edge and Mycroft's contributions to that situation certainly didn't help.

So there he was just living his life, day after day as best he could. He told his therapist once that nothing ever happened to him and then he met Sherlock and for eighteen insane but wonderful months, everything happened to him. And now...once again...there was nothing. There was worse than nothing. Coming home from the war he had nothing, his life was completely empty and now it was not only empty but lacking the thing that made his life worth while and he would have preferred mindlessly empty to that any day.

It was late at night when something finally did happen. He was lying awake in bed, one of the many sleepless nights he'd had over the last six months, his mind replaying the horrible sight of Sherlock falling...falling...falling...

He winced as he heard the crack of his body hitting the pavement, he cringed at the memory of the blood that soaked it, the absence of his pulse and his cold, lifeless eyes never to observe again.

He flipped over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow and roughly pulling his blankets over his head, hoping to drown out all the noise in his head.

He stayed there until he could hardly breathe and until the heat itself started to suffocate him. He kicked the blankets off of him and rolled onto his side, pulling his knees up to his chest and glared heavily at the dark wall.

It was not five minutes later that a strange, wheezing sort of noise pierced the dead quiet air. His first thought was that it was the wind and then he realized - wind didn't sound like that. Wind wasn't constant nor did it _wheeze. _

He rolled onto his other side, peering curiously at his closed door and trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. As it grew louder he realized it was indeed coming from outside his door and instantly his heart seized.

Moriarty was dead, or so the newspapers had said, but he still couldn't help but picture the man standing just outside his door with some sort of death trap that made such a sound.

John Watson was no coward however and so he swiftly grabbed the gun in his top drawer of the nightstand beside his bed and slowly made his way towards the door. His confusion and suspicion grew when the noise grew even louder and accompanying it was a blue light seeping in through the crack beneath his door.

Just as his hand found the door handle, the noise ceased yet he could still see the blue light. He squared his shoulders preparing himself for whatever was outside his door but as he pulled the door open nothing could prepare him for the sight before him.

Standing in the middle of the flat was a police public telephone box - one he'd only seen in history books from the 1960's. With his gun still secured in one hand he used his free hand to rub his eyes, wondering if he was perhaps having some strange dream. As he opened his eyes again however he was met with the same image of the police box sitting right in the center of 221B.

His brow furrowed as he cautiously took a step forward towards the mysterious phone box but instantly froze and raised his gun as the doors swung open and a bright light poured out into his dark flat.

His eyes squinted against the brightness but quickly readjusted and soon saw a shadowy figure appear in the doorframe of the police box.

"Dr. John Watson." A male's voice came from the direction of the figure.

"Yeah?" John shot back shortly. He'd seen all sorts of weird things in the last eighteen months but this time he didn't have Sherlock to tell him it was nothing to worry about. He didn't have Sherlock to deduce what it really was. Though he doubted even Sherlock could explain the sudden appearance of a police box in their flat.

The figure stepped out of the glaring light and into John's line of sight and he was a little taken a back to not find a man who looked like he could be working for Jim Moriarty but a young man, with floppy brown hair, dressed in tweed and a friendly smile. To be honest, John didn't know which one he'd actually find more horrifying.

His stern expression faltered with the shock of the situation but he quickly resumed military stance, his lips forming a hard line and focusing the gun directly at the stranger's head.

"Oh, all you humans with your guns." The stranger sighed, looking not at all phased by the said weapon being pointed at him. "Do put that away, I'm not here to hurt you John."

John stood unwavering for a long moment or two and then finally at the stranger's smirk, slowly lowered his hand to his side, his face softening but growing just a bit wary of the strange man.

"Who are you?" John demanded.

"I'm the Doctor." He answered simply with a self-satisfied grin.

John blinked. "Doctor who?"

"Exactly."

John stared, baffled at the strange man and his very cryptic responses. "Wha-? Look," he sighed heavily, "I'm not in the mood to play any sort of game. Are you going to tell me who you really are, or not?"

The Doctor seemed surprised by John's short tone as if he weren't expecting him to reply in such a way. He lost his smirk and adopted a more sympathetic look, approaching the former military man slowly.

"I really am the Doctor, thats what they call me."

John narrowed his eyes for a second. "Who calls you?"

He shrugged. "Everyone."

"Everyone." John repeated skeptically. "Everyone just calls you the 'Doctor'."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Right." John sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. "Right, okay then, just Doctor, next question, actually two..." He opened his eyes and pointed directly at the police box. "What the devil is that, and how did it get in here?"

The smile returned to the Doctor's face and he bounced towards the police box happily. "It's my TARDIS!"

"I'm sorry, your _what?_"

"My TARDIS. Stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space which in itself will answer your second question."

John stared at the Doctor with a frown. For a moment he felt as if he were talking to Sherlock. Here was a man standing before him spewing words at him that made absolutely no bloody sense and expecting him to know exactly what he was talking about.

However, unlike Sherlock, as well as the obvious differences from his former flat-mate, this 'Doctor' seemed to understand that his blank stare meant he didn't understand.

"It's a time machine." The Doctor elaborated.

John scoffed. "A time machine? You expect me to believe that someone in the 1960's built a time machine into a police box and then travelled through time to come _here_?"

"I'm not from the 1960's, I'm not even from Earth."

John blinked, remaining quiet for a moment or two, wondering if he had actually heard the man correctly. "...what?"

"I'm a Time Lord and I like to visit here occasionally, make friends, more often make enemies though not purposefully..."

John cocked his head, gaping at the blabbering man. "Are you telling me that you're an alien?"

The Doctor nodded, still with that frustrating little smirk on his face. "Yes."

"From another planet?"

"Well, couldn't be an alien from Earth. Although...saying that...there are the Silurian...and the Silence..."

John remained gaping at him for a few long moments as he seemed to get lost in his mind and then he slowly shook his head, slowly placed the gun on the nearest solid surface and began to turn around to head back to his room, muttering something to himself.

The Doctor's eyes widened at the retreating John and he leaped forward, bounding across the floor towards him and placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Where are you going?"

John half glanced over his shoulder at the man man from the box. "Back to bed, I don't know what I must have drank just before going to bed to make me dream something like this but I do prepare to sleep it off until morning."

A hearty chuckled rumbled from the Time Lord and he stepped in front of John to block his path. "You're not dreaming, John. I'm as real as you."

"I don't know how real I am anymore..." John muttered under his breath and his head shot up as he heard the Doctor chuckle again, wondering how he could have heard that.

"That's why I'm here, Johnny boy."

John's face darkened immensely and he tensed under the Doctor's touch, remembering the last time someone had called him that.

"_You can talk now, Johnny boy, go ahead." _Standing pool side with a bomb strapped to his chest, the psychopath's voice in his ear.

"Don't call me that." He hissed turning a stern glare on the man beside him, ripping away from his touch.

The smile once again fell from the Doctor's face as he seemed not hurt by John's attitude but curious. "Right...my apologies.."

John's eyes narrowed suspiciously and then cleared his throat. "It's fine." He said dismissively. "But I do think I really have to be heading off to bed..." He tried to move around the Doctor but the Doctor maneuvered himself to block him again and John let out a sigh.

"What is it you want with me? You want to harvest my brain or something? Because if so you might as well may get it over with."

John was almost expecting a quip from the Doctor but instead the Doctor only frowned more. "You are in a worse state than I imagined, Dr. Watson."

John furrowed his brow in surprise at the words. "Who are you? And please, don't tell me the Doctor. How do you know who I am? Why are you here?"

The Doctor sighed and moved to John's side, slipping an arm around his shoulders. "Let's just say a little birdie told me you were in need of a little adventure in your life, that you hadn't been yourself these last couple of months, that nothing ever happens to John Watson." The smirk returned at the shock in John's eyes. "I'm the one who's going to bring the fun back into your life."

John stared at him skeptically and then let out a half laugh, shaking his head. "No offense, mate. But I really don't think anyone can do that." _No one who's alive..._

"We shall see." The Doctor answered with a wink and then released John, spun on his heels and pranced back towards the police box. John followed him, slowly turning around to face him and the police box.

The Doctor grinned and held out his hand. "What do you say, John Watson, care for an adventure?"

"In there?" John motioned to the police box.

"That's just the transportation. The destination...is _anywhere."_

"Anywhere?"

The Doctor answered with a nod. "Any point in time, any where in the universe. All up to you."

John pursed his lips together, gazing in wonder at the strange Doctor and his strange police box and the strange promise of bringing adventure back into his life. He looked around the dark flat, full of nothing but old memories and loss. He was wasting away to nothing here and everyone always told him he should get out and do something...but could he really leave 221B?

"Could be dangerous."

With a short gasp, John whipped his head toward the Doctor and saw him now standing in the doorway, a smirk on his face and his arm extended outward, welcoming him forward.

John took one last look around...the violin, the skull, the cluedo board, the gunshots in the wallpaper...

...six months...

He let out a short sigh, gave a quick nod to himself and then glanced back at the Doctor. Then John Watson was marching towards the police box, saying goodbye to 221B and hello to adventure.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/n: Thank you all for kind reviews! I hope you all enjoy this next installment just as much!**_

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John wasn't sure what he was expecting as he stepped into the mysterious police box but it sure wasn't what he saw before him. He was suddenly in a room that looked like it could fit all of 221B inside it and more. It was bright and glowing and so..._alien._ In the center sat a control panel of some sort with hundreds of different knobs and buttons that he wasn't sure he wanted to know what they did.

He gaped as he continued to walk slowly forward, taking in the awe-inducing sight around him.

He heard the faint click of the door behind him and then the Doctor's voice was in his ear. "Go on...say it."

John blinked as he looked to his side. "...what?"

The Doctor smirked knowingly. "What do you think of it?" He gestured to the whole console room.

"It's..." He turned his attention back to his front. "...amazing..."

"And..." The Doctor prompted.

"And..." John shook his head, unable to find the words that could describe it. Living with Sherlock for eighteen months certainly proved useful in improving his vocabulary but now he was at a complete loss for words. "I don't know..." He muttered.

The Doctor sighed dejectedly as he made his way past John and towards the center console. "You're supposed to say its bigger on the inside."

John blinked for a moment and then furrowed his brow. "But that's obvious, why would I state something that's obvious?" As soon as the words left his mouth and he saw the Doctor's brow raise, his eyes widened as he gasped softly.

"Blimey, I sound like him..." He closed his eyes for a moment or two and then let out a heavy sigh. He had stepped onto this awe inducing ship to forget that life, to forget _him_, it would do no good to him if he started to act like him. "Sorry, I-...sorry."

"Don't apologize, John." The Doctor assured him with a small smile. "It's alright. It's just what people usually say upon boarding her for the fist time. Culture shock and all of that."

John scoffed, shaking his head. "I've seen too much of the world to be shocked by anything anymore."

The Doctor frowned and took a few cautious steps towards him. "Well John, thats why you're here to bring that surprise and adventure back into your life. You'll see things you never dreamt you could see."

John forced a tight smile. "Well, I hope you're right."

"I usually always am." The Doctor flashed him a grin and for a second he heard Sherlock's voice in his head, saying something similar with more arrogance and condescending smirk. Then he shook it off and cleared his throat, nodding towards the Doctor.

"Okay then Doctor, surprise me."

"You don't want to choose your first destination?"

John shook his head. "What do I know of the universe? No...you say you can bring me surprise and adventure, please, do so."

The Doctor pondered for a moment, observing the army doctor and wondering where in the universe would be best to take him. Another planet surely, John needed something other than Earth...

Barcelona, perhaps? From what he had learned about John he surely would get a kick out of the noseless dogs...but that could wait until his overall mood had brightened.

Something so awe-inspiring it'd take the man's mind off his dear departed friend.

Then it clicked in his mind and he grinned and raced off towards the console. However, just as was about to set the destination, a lever pulled itself down and the time rotor began to move and the Doctor looked up at it wondrously. Whatever his plans were were not the same as the TARDIS' plans and knowing the track record of the TARDIS when she chose her own destination he sincerely hoped it was not a place that would put John's life into immediate danger.

He stole a quick glance over to the army doctor and found he appeared none the wiser that they were headed to an unknown destination, in fact he was wandering around the room, taking in all the lights and structures around him with that look of awe he had when he first entered the ship.

The more John looked around the more he wondered if this was truly a dream. Certainly something like this couldn't be real and yet the Doctor kept assuring him it was. Then again, it didn't seem like it would be one of his dreams anyway since his dreams for the last six months had been nothing but nightmares. The war nightmares had returned but they weren't as frequent as the nightmares that featured _him_ and that terrible day.

So what dream of his could feature a silly man with a bigger-on-the-inside time machine disguised as a police phone box? No dream at all.

The Doctor, which John still found a bit odd of a name, especially for someone who did travel in a police box, had now perched himself on the near by captain's seat and was watching him curiously and John fidgeted under his watch.

Living with Sherlock he had learned not to be uncomfortable with a scrutinizing stare as Sherlock did it most of the time however, with Sherlock gone and now that he was once again living alone he wasn't used to people staring at him constantly...and quite frankly, the Doctor himself unnerved him. Intrigued him definitely, a mysterious man called the Doctor who travelled in time but still unnerved him.

And he also had no idea where this Doctor was taking him. For all he knew it could have been some carnivorous planet, which in some part of John's mind he didn't think he'd mind so much, being devoured by carnivorous aliens seemed a better death than loneliness.

Still, as much as the Doctor did unnerve him, John also trusted him, just like he had trusted Sherlock upon their first meeting.

John paused and closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. Well wherever it was the Doctor was taking him he hoped it was effective enough to distract him from his memories.

They arrived to their destination within several minutes, the same wheezing John had heard earlier piercing the air. John looked over to the Doctor at the noise and the Doctor grinned knowingly, rising from his seat and pressing a few buttons as the noise came to a stop. Then he looked over to John, his eyes sparkling, "We have arrived."

John glanced towards the doors and felt his heart leap. Just outside those doors was a place he'd never seen before, a place possibly no human had ever seen before and for once in a long time John felt a surge of excitement in his veins. The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly and his eyes flickered over to the Doctor who motioned him on with a wave of his hand.

John's smile grew for a moment as he slowly made his way over to the doors and he heard the Doctor rustling behind him. John's hands froze on the handles...once he opened the doors he would enter a world that was not his own and the thought both excited and terrified him. He took a deep breath and then pulled the doors open.

The sunlight came blaring in through the open doors blinding him for a moment but when his eyes adjusted he found himself looking at...

He frowned.

London.

It was London.

His brow furrowed as he stepped outside onto the pavement and looked around.

It was most definitely London.

He heard the Doctor's footsteps behind him and soon the Doctor was at his side, frowning just as he was. "Oh...well thats disappointing."

John turned to him incredulously. "Why are we here?"

"I don't know..." The Doctor murmured and then took a few steps forward. "There has to be a reason..."

John huffed quietly and the Doctor turned around to look back at him. "I'm sorry, John, I didn't know-"

John raised his brow inquisitively and the Doctor pressed his lips together and faced forward once more. "There has to be..." He muttered to himself and then started to walk forward and John, upon seeing that the Doctor was not stopping, quickly followed after him.

The Doctor disappeared around a corner and John raced to keep up with him, however, lost him amongst the sea of people on the streets. John sighed, cursing his height as he tried to peer over the heads of the people. How hard was it to find a man dressed in tweed anyway?

"Sherlock!"

For a second he froze, the familiar name burning in his ear. He slowly turned around looking for the source of the voice and the person to which the name belonged. But just as he did, a boy, no older than ten, shoved past him. The dark haired boy ran to the end of the block and then tossed himself to the ground against the side of the nearest building, bring his knees to chest and adopting a half scowl and half pout on his pink lips.

John gaped at the boy - his slightly curly dark hair, his piercing blue eyes and the unmistakable frown...it had to be-

"Sherlock!" The voice called again and John looked over his shoulder and found himself gazing at a familiar face - a significantly younger face but familiar none the less. The brown haired teenager brushed past him, marching towards the young boy and eventually kneeling beside him.

"You can't run away like that Sherlock." The older boy scolded and the younger snapped a glare at him.

"And you can't tell me what to do, you're not my father _Mycroft." _

And there was the proof - the words confirming that before him sat none other than the Holmes brothers.

"No, but I am your older brother." More proof: the ever patronizing Mycroft with the air of concern he always held for his little brother.

The boy scoffed, rolling his eyes and bringing his knees tighter to his chest, casting his glare onto the cement.

The older boy sighed. "You worry mother when you do things like that. She worries one day you're just goings to go out and kill yourself."

John stifled a gasp, his heart seizing, almost immediately the flash of the man he knew tossing himself off the roof...

The boy tilted his head towards his brother. "Why would I ever do something so _stupid?"_

"Not purposefully, Sherlock. That you'll run in the street and get hit by a car or something."

He scoffed again, shaking his head. "I'm ten...not stupid."

The young Mycroft ran his hands through his hair. "I'm not saying you are, Sherlock...I'm just saying that accidents happen and people are crazy."

The young Sherlock was quiet for a moment, the same look John had come to know as his thinking face spread across his face. "So what you're saying is that other people are stupid and because of that, if I go outside without you or mother, I might get hurt."

"If you would like to look at it that way." Mycroft offered.

Sherlock nodded for a moment and then shrugged. "Well that's not my problem."

Mycroft dropped his head, sighing heavily. He then maneuvered himself so he was kneeling directly across from Sherlock. "Listen to me. It's not your problem now but it will become your problem when you get yourself into trouble and I may not be there to get you out of it!"

Sherlock continued to glare at him through icy blue eyes and even after Mycroft's scolding, he turned away from his brother, sticking his chin into the air. "I do not want to go home, Mycroft!" He cried.

"For God sake, Sherlock..." Mycroft groaned and pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his temples and frowning deeply. Sherlock's persistent pout remained stationed on his face as he purposefully avoided Mycroft's disapproving stare.

Mycroft paced back and forth for a long moment then paused, narrowed his eyes in thought and brought himself back to a squat beside his brother. "Sherlock..."

The tone of Mycroft's voice seemed to catch the young Sherlock's attention and he inched his head an inch towards his brother, his eyes squinting curiously.

"What do you say, if you come home with me now, I'll let you be the captain."

Sherlock now looked thoroughly intrigued, his head tilting sideways and his eyes flickering towards Mycroft. "Captain of what?"

A knowing smirk crossed Mycroft's lips as he leaned forward and spoke enthusiastically, "The whole British armada."

For a brief second, Sherlock's eyes flashed and his lips twitched and then it was gone as he nodded stoically. "Fine."

"Good." Mycroft let out a sigh and rose to his feet and as soon as the young Sherlock was sure his brother could not see his face, he broke out into a rare smile, his eyes twinkling in delight and he leapt to his feet with a grace that no awkward ten year old should have.

In an instant the young Sherlock was running towards him and before he knew it, or could even think to get out the way, the ten year old came plowing right into him. John barely flinched on the impact but the boy took a few stumbling steps backward until he caught his footing and looked up.

John's breath caught as he found himself gazing into the same icy blue eyes he'd come to know so well and the ones he hadn't seen in the last six months and thought he would never see again.

The smile had disappeared from his face and was replaced with a curious scowl. John knew without a doubt that even at a young age Sherlock had a powerful mind and that powerful mind was no doubt wondering why a man who was much older than him was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, in his way, without moving.

"Sherlock!" Again the cry from Mycroft and John could hear the sound of his quick footsteps approaching them. Soon Mycroft was standing behind Sherlock, slipping his hands onto the boy's shoulders.

"Sherlock," He hissed, "You need to watch what you're doing. You might have hurt this man! Now apologize."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and John wasn't sure if he was angry at his brother or angry at him for being in his way. Then he huffed and shifted his eyes to the side, breaking their intense stare and forcing air back into John's lungs.

"Sherlock." Mycroft squeezed the boy's shoulders and Sherlock wiggled under his hold. "Tell Mr..." He glanced up at him curiously.

John opened his mouth and found his throat to be incredibly dry and he was hardly able to force out, "Watson."

"Tell Mr. Watson you're sorry."

Sherlock folded his arms over his chest and glared at the ground until Mycroft nudged him again and he groaned before glancing up at John. Blue eyes once again met brown and John felt his chest tighten. "I'm sorry Mr. Watson..." He grumbled.

"Good lad." Mycroft squeezed his shoulders once more and then Sherlock ripped away from his brother and passed John.

John followed Sherlock's path with his eyes until his attention was snapped forward by Mycroft. "I do apologize on behalf of my brother, he can be a bit rude."

Despite himself, John felt a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. He knew very well how rude Sherlock could be and sometimes thought that despite Sherlock's actual age he was a ten year old trapped in an adult's body.

"No worries." John raised his hand and was glad he had found his voice again. "Boys will be boys, eh?"

Mycroft huffed a small laugh. "I suppose..." he trailed off as he looked over John's shoulder to where Sherlock was waiting impatiently at the end of the block. "He's no ordinary boy."

John turned to face the same direction as Mycroft, both now staring at Sherlock who even at ten years old stood like he owned the world, watching the people around him as if they were insignificant little ants.

A sad smile tugged at John's lips and he clenched his jaw as he felt the very faint prick of tears at the back of eyes. _He's no ordinary man, either. _

"I had better get him home before something happens." Mycroft said stepping forward and casting a small smile over at John. "Have a good evening, Mr. Watson."

"Yes..." He murmured as he watched Mycroft jog over to where Sherlock stood, placing a hand over the boy's shoulder and then guiding him home.

John stood there motionless until the brothers completely disappeared from his sight and then he blinked rapidly, fighting away the slight moisture in his eyes and took a shuddering breath, shaking his head as he wondered if that had actually just happened.

Then coming around the corner he spotted the Doctor and realized that it had. He huffed with a frown and marched towards the Doctor. "Why would you do that?" He wondered and the Doctor almost looked taken aback. "Why would you bring me here?"

"I didn't bring you here." The Doctor answered smoothly and John cast him a look.

"It's your bloody time machine, you're the one who was driving it."

The Doctor raised his hands innocently. "It wasn't me, I promise. It was the TARDIS, she set her own destination."

John stared at him skeptically. "She set her own destination."

"Yes! She does that quite often, actually. She'll take you not to where you want to go, but where you need to go."

"And I needed to come here." John shook his head, closing his eyes. "Why would I need to come here?" He muttered more to himself than anything.

"Closure?" The Doctor offered.

"Closure?" John snapped his eyes open and the Doctor flinched at the fire in them. "My best friend is _dead. _He's never going to come back and your bloody space ship thought that it would be great closure if I saw him when he was a kid, when he still had his whole life ahead of him, when the whole world didn't hate him or think he was..." His voice cracked as he suddenly paused, closing his eyes and biting down on his lip. He bowed his head to his chest, his shoulders slumping for a moment as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

The Doctor stood in front of him awkwardly, his hands slightly stretched out in front of him, unsure if he should attempt to console the army doctor. However, before he had the chance to act, John inhaled deeply and then released a shuddering breath, squaring his shoulders, and slowly lifting his head. His eyes upon reopening were glossy with unshed tears but he quickly blinked them away.

Then a shaky smile found its way to his lips as he met the Doctor's stare. "He wanted to be a pirate, y'know."

The Doctor returned his smile. "I know."

A breath of a laugh escaped John's throat. "Somehow I don't think Sherlock Holmes: Pirate of the Seven Seas would sell quite as well as Sherlock Holmes: World's Only Consulting Detective."

The Doctor's eyes twinkled in delight as he nodded his agreement. "That would have indeed been a talent wasted."

"Quite." John smiled warmly though it didn't quite reach his eyes. His eyes flickered for a moment down the road to where Sherlock and Mycroft had disappeared and he sighed quietly as he glanced back to the Doctor.

"He helped people didn't he?"

The Doctor stepped forward and slung an arm around John's shoulders. "He helped a lot of people, John. Who knows how many people would have not been brought to justice if not for Sherlock Holmes and most importantly, out of all the random strangers he helped, he helped no one more than he helped you...am I right?"

John's throat tightened and he nodded sternly. "Yes..." He whispered. "Yes."

"_I was so alone, and I owe you so much." _

"And John-" The Doctor released him and stood in front of him. "The world may have hated him towards the end but that didn't matter to him and do you know why?"

John's jaw tightened as he shook his head slowly although he almost sure of the words that were going to leave the Doctor's lips.

"It was because he jumped knowing you believed in him."

John held the Doctor's stare for a moment and then he slammed his eyes closed, his face scrunching up as his body tensed. He took a few steps away from the Doctor, shaking his head as he swallowed over the lump in his throat. "Who are you?" His voice was low to hide the shaking and his eyes opened slowly. "Really...who are you? How do you know so much about me? How do you know so much about him? How do you know so much about me and him?"

"I'm the Doctor-"

John sighed heavily. "You keep saying that but it doesn't mean anything!"

The Doctor remained un-wavered by John's sudden mood swings and only cast him a small, warm smile.

"I'm the Doctor..." He repeated. "And I make it my business to know things. As it would happen in fact, I know Sherlock Holmes quite well."

"Right...of course you do, of course." John rubbed his temples with a sigh.

"John..." The Doctor took a step forward and hesitantly placed a hand on his arm, bringing his attention to him. "I don't know why the TARDIS decided to bring us here, if I could ask her I would...but she knows what she's doing. She sees the past, the present and the future and when she brought you here it was for a reason. I know you are still grieving and there is nothing wrong with that but perhaps she just wanted you to be able to see him one last time at a time where seeing him and him seeing you would not blow a hole in the fabric of time."

John quirked an eyebrow.

"Wibbly-wobbly, time-wimey." Answered the Doctor and John's other eyebrow joined the first on his forehead.

"Sherlock can't see you at a point in time where he'll remember seeing you before the day you first met."

John's brow shifted back into place as he nodded in understanding. "And him being ten years old..." Then his brow furrowed. "But he's Sherlock...he remembered a suspicious murder from when he was a kid surely he could still remember-"

"Yes he'd remember a murder of course, something that intrigued him, but not some random bloke he ran into on the street during one of the many fights with his brother."

"Right." John muttered with a nod.

The Doctor cast him a small smile. "I'm sorry John, if this hurt more than it helped but I promise next time I will do the driving and I know the perfect destination that is far away from any version of Sherlock Holmes."

John bit down on his lip thoughtfully and stood in frozen silence for a moment before slowly glancing up at the Doctor.

"You said that I could choose the destination, if I wanted to?"

The Doctor seemed surprised by the question but eagerly nodded. "Yes, of course."

John nodded, seeming to contemplate for a few seconds longer and then his lips twitched.

"I know where I want to go."


End file.
